


you knock me out

by arpeggioschuyler



Series: and i thought i was so smart [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: @lin im sorry, Angst, Anxiety, Caring, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, basically alex doesn't have a great life, idk what to tag man im a poor lil canadian memer, ill change the rating and archive warnings as i update, injuries, nothing ever gets mature or explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpeggioschuyler/pseuds/arpeggioschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, how to care for alexander hamilton, as demonstrated by his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. aaron burr

**Author's Note:**

> ok first of all @lin if u see this im sorry even tho it isn't that bad. also i was the short one that almost cried when i met you at the stage door and asked about what u mouth to sydney james harcourt 
> 
> anyways 
> 
> this is basically everyone taking care of alexander hamilton in their own way. don't worry, there will be some semblance of a plot later on.
> 
> and yes these are extremely short esp compared to my fic 'bleed and fight for you' but whatever

As a rule, Aaron Burr tries not to get wrapped up in Alexander Hamilton's shenanigans. Yes, he was his first friend when the bastard orphan came to America, and yes, they bonded over both being orphans, and yes, he bought him a drink, but Aaron wants no part in Hamilton's games. He socializes with them on occasion, failing to communicate well with the Schuyler sisters, keeping up his ridiculous banter with Hamilton. But he doesn't get involved when Alexander Hamilton calls him at 3am yelling at him to join him and his hooligan friends at a protest, or when he knocks incessantly at Aaron's door only to tell him that he has no political beliefs.

Or, at least, he usually doesn't.

It's 4am on a Monday and he's dreaming of Theodosia when his phone chimes loudly. It's Hamilton, because, well, of course it's Hamilton. He answers it, because he knows he'll just keep calling.

“What do you want?” Aaron groans.

“Aaron? Is that you?” The voice on the other line is filled with trepidation. There's no usual 'Aaron Burr, sir!' this time. This is strange. This is very, extremely, unusual.

“Yes, last I checked.” Aaron keeps his tone light, trying to figure out why Hamilton is suddenly so timid.

“I, um,” he hears Hamilton take in a shuddering breath, “I was wondering if you could talk to me. About something. Anything.”

“What's wrong?” Aaron says.

“I had, it's kind of ridiculous, really, I just had an awful nightmare, and when I can focus on someone's words before I sleep, I usually don't have a reprise. I figured that you're the only person willing to answer my calls at this hour, and… I trust you.” Hamilton pauses, waiting for an answer, but Aaron is still trying to wrap his head around this. Of course, he'd help Hamilton, but did the smart-mouthed kid really trust him that much? “I'm sorry, this was stupid, I'll just—”

“No!” Aaron almost shouts, and lowers his voice. “No. You know what? I'll be there in five minutes.”

“You really don't have to—” Aaron hangs up.

Hamilton's right, he really doesn't have to do this. He has no obligation to help the genius kid. Aaron's pulling on a hoodie when he hesitates. He could easily go back to sleep and ignore that Hamilton trusts him enough to make this call. But then, he thinks of Hamilton's timid voice on the other line saying 'I trust you', and imagines him curled up in a ball in one of his raggedy sweaters with his wrist braces on, and Aaron finishes putting on his hoodie and grabs shoes, and then his dorm room keys and heads down the hall. His roommate is out— Thanksgiving weekend and all. Madison had invited him over to his, but Aaron declined. He felt like he would have been intruding, although he has nowhere else to go because of the whole orphan thing. He figures it's the same with Hamilton. His roommate, and long-time crush, John Laurens, had probably invited him, but took back the invitation at the last minute because he didn't want Hamilton screaming at his homophobic, racist dad.

He knocks lightly at the door, and hears a quiet "Come in,". He opens the door and steps inside. Hamilton's side of the room is, as usual, filled with stacks of paper, but just as he imagined, there's Hamilton, huddled in the corner in an oversized sweater that's probably John's, with his wrist braces.

Aaron sits next to him, realizing how bad Hamilton looks. There's bags under his eyes, and he's twitchy, and Aaron can see that he'd been crying. His breathing is still choppy. “You came,” Hamilton says, looking at Aaron in wonder.

“Did you really think I wouldn't?” Aaron says grimly. There's always the possibility. He'd considered not going himself. Hamilton nods, the action small and weak, and Aaron resists from hugging him. “So you want me to talk?”

“Yes,” Hamilton says quietly. “About anything. Stories, anything. I know it'll be hard, since you're always saying 'talk less', but please.”

Aaron is usually not a hypocrite. He prides himself on staying true to his word. But all his warnings to talk less fly out of the window as Hamilton looks at him desperately with those big brown eyes. Aaron nods, and all of a sudden, Hamilton rests his head on Aaron's shoulder. The weight and warmth is sudden, but Hamilton's head fits perfectly. Aaron takes in breath, glances down at— his friend? yes, his friend— and begins.

“Have I ever told you about the time I lost my umbrella?”


	2. eliza schuyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton is non-stop, and sometimes that isn't a great thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's my gal eliza ok
> 
> also im so sorry this one sucks but better ones are coming ok!! and also a vague plot is coming 
> 
> \+ YES THIS FOLLOWS A LINEAR TIMELINE
> 
> also last chapter i changed "boyfriend" to "long time crush" referring to laurens and ham haahahahahaaa angst is coming

The thing about Alexander Hamilton is that he's non-stop. Eliza Schuyler knows this, of course, has known this ever since he stumbled into her life. No one really knows what truly goes on in Alexander's mind, but Eliza and John Laurens are as close as it gets. So when Alexander goes missing two days before a big test, Eliza is the first one called. Partly because she knows Alexander so well, and partly because she's the main mom friend. (The part-time mom friend is Aaron Burr, though he'll never admit to it.)

“You've got to be kidding,” Eliza says, shoving her colour-coded notes aside.

Lafayette leans against the doorway. “Last anyone saw of him was yesterday, right after John left.”

Eliza runs a hand through her hair. “Did you check in with Philip? Maybe he went to visit him.” She says, searching for any solution— seeing his old foster brother?

“He's not there. He's most likely somewhere on campus, however. Can you let Burr know, and I'll get Hercules?” Lafayette says. It's a smart move not to get Thomas Jefferson or James Madison involved at this point.

“Perfect. Burr can check the library, Hercules can check the computer lab, and you can check with Washington.” Eliza says, tugging on her shoes.

Lafayette raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “And where are you checking?”

“Don't worry about me,” Eliza says offhandedly. She pulls her hair into a low ponytail, and texts Burr a brief message about the situation and where he could check, and then ushers Lafayette out the door.

Eliza beelines for behind campus. She knows Alexander, and she knows where he'll go if he's working non-stop. She heads into the forest, takes a diagonal path to the right, until she reaches the familiar, huge oak tree. The one thing she doesn't understand is why Alexander comes into nature when he loves technology. Maybe, she supposes, it's because he doesn't want anyone to see his inevitable breakdown. She can hear his typing now, and rounds the corner to see Alexander typing non-stop, with stacks of handwritten papers beside him.

She keeps her distance, at first. “Alexander,” she says lightly, and although he doesn't have earphones in, he doesn't show any sign of hearing her. She shoots off a quick text to Lafayette, Burr, and Hercules, saying to meet back at Alexander's dorm and she may be a while. “Alexander,” she tries again, louder this time, but he isn't responsive. She sighs, and sits down next to him, and leans her head on his shoulder. She knows she's taking a risk, but she does it anyways.

Alexander flinches, but settles down when he sees it's Eliza. “What are you doing here? I'm working.” He says, his words faster than usual, and he keeps typing.

“Not anymore,” she says, lifting her head, and she takes the laptop away. She saves his work and closes it. “You need to take a break,”

“But I have so much work to do,” Alexander frets, his eyes wide. “I have so much to do, Eliza,”

“You've done it all,” Eliza says, sure that he has. “It's time to take a break. Come, let's get you back to your dorm.”

She stands, helps Alexander up, and then reaches out and grabs the laptop and the stacks of paper, and stuffs them in his backpack. She swings the backpack into her back and takes Alexander's hand, the warmth comforting. When they get back to the room, Lafayette, Hercules, and Burr are there waiting, clustered on John's side of the room. Eliza takes the backpack off and makes Alexander sit down.

“Are you going to rest now?” Eliza asks him patiently.

“I have so much to do, and my brain, it's buzzing, and I can't—” Alexander cuts himself off, close to hyperventilating. Eliza sits next to him, her back against the headboard, and gets Alexander to lean on her shoulder. She looks up at Lafayette, Hercules, and Burr, and there's something weird with Burr's expression. Alexander sees it too, and must understand something Eliza doesn't, because he moves his head into Eliza's lap and stretches out on the bed. Eliza plays with his hair.

“Can you sleep?” Eliza asks, and Alexander hums contentedly. She glances up at Lafayette, Hercules, and Burr. She doesn't want to speak again as to disturb Alexander. She makes eye contact with Lafayette and puts up four fingers with the hand that's not in Alexander's hair.

Lafayette nods, understanding the code that they and Eliza had come up with, and they lead Hercules and Burr out of the room. Eliza plays with Alexander's hair again, knowing that the others will check up Alexander in another four hours.

And if the others come back in four hours and see both Eliza and Alexander sleeping, they don't do anything more than put a blanket on them and leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more coming soon!! next up = HERCULES MULLIGAN!!! (who i suck at writing. so like. good luck 2 me) 
> 
> love you!!


	3. hercules mulligan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it isn't Hamilton who messes up. (@Thomas Conway, watch where you're going)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haahahaha when u draw from ur previous injuries to write fanfiction
> 
> this is shorter than the norm but i think it ended on a nice note so :)))))))))

As his friends know, Hercules Mulligan is never available during the night hours. They never know where he goes, although he does tell them he's at work, to which the usual response is "and you're making clothing when everyone else is asleep?" Because of that fact, Mulligan does not usually deal with the human disaster they call Alexander Hamilton, because Hamilton usually doesn't have daytime issues. Until now, of course.

Mulligan is good at being comforting. Mulligan is good at staying calm. Mulligan is admittedly not good at physical injuries. Naturally, that's what he has to deal with.

Laurens is out again, which is odd, because he's almost never out. He makes a mental note to check up on Laurens later. Lafayette is jogging towards class, having forgot it. So it's just Mulligan and Hamilton, chatting on the quad, making sure Hamilton isn't working non-stop after last week's incident.

Hamilton is gesturing wildly with his left hand, his other hand resting on a tree, for whatever reason, as he rants about Jefferson (for the sixth time in the last week.)

“Isn't he your friend?” Mulligan interjects.

“Vaguely. On a good day. Sometimes.” Hamilton says, although they both know that though Hamilton and Jefferson argue, they're both extremely protective of the other. “So he has pictures, on the wall, of crusty old white dudes that he admires so much, and he tells me, 'these are the greatest mi—'” Hamilton cuts off as someone backs into him roughly, and he's sent stumbling forward. Mulligan sees it all. Hamilton's hand is on the tree, and when the person slams into him, his wrist, not in his usual wrist brace for his carpal tunnel, snaps backwards. Hamilton falls forward, and Mulligan catches him and stands him back up, carefully not touching his wrist.

“Shit, man, I'm like, sorry,” the person, a guy Mulligan recognizes as Tom Conway, halfheartedly apologizes.

“If it's broken, you're paying for the hospital bill, jackass.” Mulligan says, glaring at the kid until he leaves, and then he turns his attention to Hamilton, who is cradling his wrist and biting his lip. Mulligan swears he can see tears in his eyes, not that Hamilton would admit it. “Broken?”

Hamilton looks up. “It's fine,” he says, but Mulligan knows the kid is lying through his teeth. It's his right, which will be fine for writing as he's ambidextrous, but not so fine for typing. Mulligan really, really hopes it's not broken.

“Come on, we're going to the hospital.” Mulligan isn't sure of what to do in this situation, so he grabs Hamilton's good arm and leads him towards the car. Halfway there, he pauses, with an amazing idea. “Put your wrist brace on.”

“What?” Hamilton asks.

“You have your wrist braces in your bag, right? Put the right one on. Immobilize it.” Mulligan knows the kid doesn't leave home without them, after John's consistent pestering.

Hamilton struggles with getting it out of his bag, and Mulligan reaches in and grabs it. Hamilton extends his bad hand and Mulligan carefully slides it on, taking note of how Hamilton winces. He does the velcro straps, taking care not to make it too tight as to pain his wrist. Hamilton moves his arm away after, and glances up at Mulligan with unshed tears in his eyes.

“Herc?” Hamilton says, looking so small and vulnerable.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Thank you.” Hamilton says, as if it's a grandiose confession, and he wipes at a stray tear furiously with his good hand.

Mulligan gives him the smallest of smiles. “It's no problem. Come on, let's get you to the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES HAM WAS MID TELLING THE JULIUS CAESER STORY LMAO
> 
> ok i have had four wrist fractures and i sometimes need to put a brace on because my wrist is legitimately messed up for life and it hurts when i write more than one page or if i type for a long time hahaha rip 
> 
> legit tho replace the tree with a pole and add a convoluted tale of playing grounders at a park with a bunch of kids two years older than i was and u have the story of how i broke my wrist the fourth time rip


	4. james madison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's probably a Ham Thing. It's always a Ham Thing. When is it not a Ham Thing? (Or, Madison gets a phone call.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahaha sorry for the late update school has been hell and also i suck at writing madison

James Madison is usually not the primary carer for Alexander Hamilton. Yes, he helps out, and yes, he always responds to the calls when Hamilton needs help, but he's never been the main person. He's perfectly content with it staying that way, but then he gets a call from Hercules Mulligan.

“Hey, Hercules.” He says. They aren't very close, and certainly not close enough to merit random mid-day calls. So, Madison deduces, it must be a Ham Thing. (When is it not a Ham Thing?)

“Hey. Would you be able to come to the hospital?” Mulligan says.

Madison leaps to his feet immediately, grabbing a hoodie. “What happened?”

“Fucking Tom Conway broke his wrist,” Mulligan says, sounding pissed, and Madison breathes a sigh of relief. Nothing too serious, nothing life-threatening. “And I got called in to go to work early.”

“Work, eh? Sewing some pants that much of a big deal?” Madison says, and he can imagine Mulligan rolling his eyes. “I'll be there in twenty.”

He gets there in fifteen. Mulligan texts him where to go, and soon he's sitting next to Hamilton, waiting for the x-ray results. Mulligan waves at Madison and pats Hamilton on the shoulder before heading out.

“JMadz, what's up?” Hamilton says. He doesn't look well, curled up on a chair cradling his wrist.

“Don't call me that.” Madison gripes.

“Hey, at least I'm not calling you fat motherfucker,” Hamilton notes with a grin. “That's Adams.”

“Yeah, that was clear after you posted the call-out post ending with 'sit down John, you fat motherfucker'.” Madison says.

“Oh, come on, that was necessary!” Ham argues.

“No, you ruined him. Adams was a necessary evil. Without him, who would you have to debate?” Madison shoots back at him, keeping Hamilton's attention the best way he can.

“What about TJeffs?” Hamilton says smugly, and Madison groans at the nickname. “Ooh, that reminds me, I need to start typing up my debate notes.” Before Madison can stop him, he whips out his phone with his right hand and unlocks it, but pauses soon after. “Oh my god. I have to type with one hand.”

“It won't be too difficult. And if it's fractured, it'll only be about six weeks.” Madison tries, but his attempt fails.

“Six weeks?” Hamilton gapes at him. “I can't go six weeks without typing.”

“How about we just wait and stay calm until we get results back? You can panic if it's actually fractured,” Madison says, and prays that it isn't fractured.

Two hours later, Hamilton sits in the passenger seat of Madison's car, his definitely fractured wrist in a green cast, his head leaning against the cool window.

“It won't be that bad.” Madison tries, and hopes that Hamilton doesn't smash his head against the window.

“I'm not able to type,” Hamilton says, like he's just realizing all over again. “I won't be able to do any assignments for six weeks. Fuck. Oh my god. I'm going to get so behind.”

“No, you aren't.” Madison says steadily, breaking Hamilton out of his panicked thoughts. “You're ambidextrous, you can write out the assignments you haven't finished yet. I know you have up to four weeks of work done. And if you have to type, I'm sure Laurens would be happy to scribe for you.”

Hamilton snorts. “Yeah, if he actually talks to me.” He mutters. Madison ignores it, knowing that a) Hamilton has more to say and b) he's not in the mood to talk about Hamilton's romantic issues. “But I don't have anyone to type all the projects I haven't finished, because Angelica doesn't have time, and Eliza gets horrible hand cramps, and I can't do that to Peggy, and Mulligan has horrible spelling anyways, and Lafayette would probably type it all out in French, and--”

“I'll scribe for you,” Madison says without thinking, but the look on Hamilton's face when he says it is worth it.

“Really? You'd actually do that for me?” Hamilton says, and Madison can see tears in his eyes.

“Of course I would. We're friends,” he says, a bit shocked at the words that come out of his mouth.

“Yeah. Friends.” Hamilton says, and Madison puts his car in reverse so he can get out of that parking lot. “Since we're friends… wanna sign my cast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there u go
> 
> the counterpart for this fic, aka how alexander hamilton cares for his friends, will be up hopefully be next week
> 
> until then, you can busy yourself with reading the reincarnation au im gonna post in literally two seconds


	5. marquis de lafayette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette tries his best, and it kind of works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i churned this out in like ten minutes it's not v long

Marie-Joseph Yves Paul Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette loves Alexander Hamilton. Not romantically, of course, although there was that one time in September. But they care so much for their little lion, and they try their best to take care of him. So when the weather app predicts a bad storm, and the rain starts, Lafayette makes their way over to Alexander's room with hot chocolate mix and his laptop.

They open the door lightly to the view of Alexander curled up under a blanket in the middle of the room. John Laurens isn't around, for some reason, which is rather strange because Thanksgiving is back on campus and they had seen John around. But that is besides the point, they decide.

“Mon petite jambon, how does Netflix and chocolat chaud sound?” Lafayette says, sauntering towards Alexander. They take the slight jerk of Alexander's head as a nod, and they set down their laptop in front of him, open to Netflix. “Take your pick of movie,“ they say. “I'm going to go to the kitchen to make our hot chocolate, yes?”

Alexander nods shakily once more, and Lafayette quickly leaves, busying themselves with making hot chocolate. Five minutes later, they return to the room, but the storm has gotten worse. Alexander is now pressed against the wall next to the door, the farthest point away from the window. Their laptop lay abandoned in the middle of the room, with some Disney movie Lafayette doesn't recognize playing tinnily out of the speakers. They set down the hot chocolates on the side table and move to approach their shaking friend. Alexander stares off into space, his eyes wet with tears, and Lafayette carefully sits next to him, placing their warm hand in his cold, non-broken one in hopes of grounding him.

“Mon Alexandre,” Lafayette says carefully but kindly. “You are safe.”

A crash of thunder. The rain starts coming down even faster. Alexander's breathing picks up.

Lafayette moves to rub Alexander's back, releasing his hand, whispering things like “I have you” and “you're safe” and a multitude of sweet nothings in French. They wish they could do more to help than just whisper and hug, but if this is what Alexander needs of them, this is what they'll do.

Moments pass, and then, Alexander chokes out a word like a prayer: “Padre,” he cries out, and Lafayette only hugs him tighter as he begins to spit out incoherent sentences in different languages. “Es décès et destruction, I have à escriber mi camino en dehors, s'éloigner de este huracán et a town ese only brings death y douleur, tant dolor, padre, maman, por qué, puis-je pas noyer? Why does the monde no me deja die?”

Lafayette understands only some of it, that he speaks of his father and mother and death and pain and hurricanes, and all they do is hold him tighter, stroking his hair, letting him calm down, because they do not know how else to help. The words don't stop, he keeps speaking, rambling in three languages, and Lafayette wishes they didn't know two of the three so they wouldn't have to listen to the pain Alexander is describing.

Eventually, the words stop, and his breathing settles, and Lafayette shifts their body partially behind Alexander's. He tips his head back onto their shoulder, and Lafayette lets him lean against them. The storm gets lighter, although Lafayette knows it's not done, and Alexander reaches out to grab Lafayette's hand. “Thank you,” Alexander says softly, but still shakily.

“Il n'y a pas de problème, mon cher. Vous vous rappelez que je t'aime.” They say quietly.

“Je t'aime aussi,” Alexander says, squeezing Lafayette's hand and shutting his eyes.

Lafayette squeezes Alexander's hand again, keeping him grounded with the pitter patter of the rain outside. Sure, they don't know exactly what to do. But they know Alexander, they helped him, and somehow, that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> mon petite jambon = my little ham  
> chocolat chaud = hot chocolate
> 
> this one's a doozy, it's spanish, french, and english. thanks, tio google.
> 
> Padre, Es décès et destruction, I have à escriber mi camino en dehors, s'éloigner de este huracán et a town ese only brings death y douleur, tant dolor, padre, maman, por qué, puis-je pas noyer? Why does the monde no me deja die? =
> 
> Father, it is death and destruction, I have to write my way out, of the hurricane and a town that only brings death and pain, so much pain, father, mother, why, can I not drown? Why does the world not let me die?
> 
> Il n'y a pas de problème, mon cher. Vous vous rappelez que je t'aime. = It is no problem, my dear. Remember I love you. 
> 
> Je t'aime aussi = I love you too
> 
>  
> 
> fun fact: when all you say in the comments is "update", it literally only makes me want to update so I can tell you off in the end note for it. you want me to update, leave me a nice comment if you love it so much that you have to scream "UPDATE".
> 
> our darling peggy's up next. 
> 
> LET ME KNOW IF I FUCKED UP WITH LAF'S PRONOUNS ANYWHERE

**Author's Note:**

> hi, im ky, i love angst and im always mad about the fact that ao3 says margaret "peggy" schuyler when her name was actually margarita @world fight me 
> 
> u can find me on the twitter at @pegyschuyler, where i occasionally cry at getting noticed by the cast


End file.
